


The Commandment

by DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis



Category: The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Genre: Backstory, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Cruelty, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Mental Instability, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Siblings, Step-parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis/pseuds/DmitriDesgoffeUndTaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight year old Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis finds himself returning home from boarding school for the winter holidays, which take a turn for the worse when Laetizia Desgoffe-und-Taxis devises a plot to steal an enormous cake (meant for Mme. D's new husband, a Prussian-born, Walrus-moustached aristocrat named Ferdinand von Tieren) from the main kitchen.</p><p>This is part one of what will be a three part story. However, each part will be a standalone work, as I feel this best conveys the fragmented nature of Dmitri's childhood memories. </p><p>As with most things concerning Dmitri's childhood, unsavoury things are wont to occur. While my descriptions are usually not too graphic, the subject matter is sensitive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Commandment

It was during one of the worst mid-December blizzards Lutz had ever witnessed that Count Dmitri, then a rather somber-looking child of eight (freshly as of the month prior), absconded himself in the enormous and elegant Desgoffe-und-Taxis family library. 

He had, during the previous week, returned home from boarding school for the winter holidays—allotted a vacation spanning two weeks' time.

Dmitri had mixed feelings about returning to the family manor, a formidable sixteenth-century stone castle at the heart of the Zubrowkian Lowlands known simply as Schloß Lutz. 

On the one hand, his first few months in boarding school hadn't exactly been the most enjoyable. He was among the youngest pupils in attendance (and thus afraid of most older children), unwittingly finding himself at the mercy of one Günther Heinersdorf, a bullish-looking older student who prided himself on making the young Count's life as miserable as possible. 

On the other, Dmitri's life prior to being shipped off to boarding school had also been far from ideal. 

His only lasting relief stemmed from the fact his mother's previous lover, a slimy hotel concierge known simply as M. Gilbert Herbert, had disappeared from the Desgoffe-und-Taxis household shortly before Dmitri's own forced departure. He had been promptly replaced, however, by Count Ferdinand von Tieren—a middle-aged, Prussian-born aristocrat who (in the strict fashion of every highly decorated military officer) was, among other things, a fiercely strict disciplinarian. 

Dmitri still recalled (with poignantly vivid clarity) the broken nose which he'd received shortly after Mme. D's marriage to Count von Tieren, when it was announced that he would be sent to Lutz Boarding School for Boys. The idea, of course, was Celine's—she wished to have her son as far away from her new husband as possible (still ruing the 'loss' of M. Herbert, for which she blamed her youngest), and the Prussian Count was only too happy to oblige, seeing the Matriarch's only son as dregs from his wife's previous existence, merely an unwanted 'heir' stifling /his/ happiness.

Naturally, a child of Dmitri's age resisted such a drastic and unprecedented change, earning him a sound beating from his stepfather—a beating which would end with (among other injuries) a permanently crooked nose for the younger Count. 

He had never forgotten that day, its constant reminder being merely a glance at the mirror away. Thus, upon his return to Schloß Lutz, he did his best to remain as out of the way as humanly possible.

“At least I don't have to deal with Günther...” Dmitri spoke in an attempt to soothe his nerves, entirely solitary in his gilded confinement within the walls of that most illustrious library as he watched the snow drift in harmonious flurries from the other side of a large window.

It was not until Laetizia's sudden emergence that Dmitri would be driven from his preoccupations, the latter entirely surprised to see one of his sisters beckon.

“Dmitri!” The eighteen year old, modestly dressed Laetizia beckoned, opening the large wooden doors which led to the dimly-lit library. “Dmitri, come here!” 

Curious, Dmitri tore himself from the window, running over to Laetizia. 

“Hey, Laetizia.” Dmitri greeted, wondering what his sister was after.

“Dmitri. I need your help.” Laetizia said, her dark eyes casting a pleading glance in her younger brother's direction.

“Sure thing, Laetizia.” Dmitri replied, mildly curious, yet happy to be called upon for assistance. “What is it?” 

“There is a cake. In the kitchen.” Laetizia stated, her fat face taking on a covetous expression as she thought upon its visage. 

“So?” Dmitri frowned, a bit confused. “Isn't there supposed to be? It's a kitchen...”

“Yes, but, Dima...” Laetizia began, her pudgy, varnished hand caressing Dmitri's dark hair as she spoke. “Mother has been very mean to your sister while you were away. She's—she's put me on a diet.”

“A diet? Why?” Dmitri inquired—/he'd/ never been put on a diet.

“I don't know, but it's awful, Dima!” Laetizia whined. “I'm not allowed to eat red meat, or cakes. No sugar, at all. And I'm going crazy just thinking about it...”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Dmitri blinked, looking up at his sister. 

“I want you to help me take the cake.” Laetizia replied, mincing no words as she laid out her request. “I'll spot you, while you go in and snatch it.”

“Won't mother be angry?” Dmitri asked, looking hesitant. 

“She won't /know/, Dima...” Laetizia appealed, a tinge of desperation in the shaky timbre of her words. “If we hide after we take it, she won't know. And the servants can just bake another one. Please, Dmitri!”

Dmitri looked down for a moment, an ill feeling welling in his gut as he pondered Laetizia's proposition. 

“Okay.” Dmitri agreed, figuring the transgression was minimal at best, and at most a chance to finally win his sister's approval.

Together, Laetizia and Dmitri wandered from the Desgoffe-und-Taxis family library, venturing through the halls (which were lined entirely with miscellaneous baroque-style portraits, all featuring chubby-faced cherubs somewhere within their aged frames), and down the long set of stairs which led to the main kitchen. 

Once they reached the servants' entrance to the kitchen, Laetizia hid behind the small door which led to the stuffy room where the cake awaited.

“So here's the plan—you'll go in and snatch the cake, since you're swift and small. I'll stay here and keep watch for you,” Laetizia instructed. “If you're good, I'll give you a slice or two. Alright?”

Dmitri nodded, dutifully heeding her words. 

“If I get the cake, can we play a game of cards?” He asked coyly (his sisters had never allowed him to play cards with them).

“Just go get the cake, and we'll talk.” Laetizia snapped, pushing her younger brother towards the kitchen entrance.

Dmitri did as he was told, carefully sneaking into the sweltering kitchen and quietly scouting his surroundings in search of the cake.

He found it quickly. It was larger than he expected—a tremendous, pink monstrosity, with layers of frosting as thick as the snow which presently accumulated outside the castle's ancient walls. 

The young Count had no idea how he was to go about carrying such an atrociously large pastry, but for the sake of brevity in theft, he snatched it—tray and all—and began his journey back to Laetizia.

Laetizia, for her part, anxiously counted the seconds until her brother's return, and more importantly, the emergence of that scrumptious cake. So absorbed in her sweat-drenched anticipation was she that she failed to notice when a servant made his way past the door behind which she stood (fortunately for her, she was veiled from the latter's view by the door's stately white frame). 

Dmitri, however, would not be so lucky. 

Just as he was nearing the exit, the small Count's path collided with that of the incoming servant, causing the former to noisily drop the stolen tray. 

“What were you doing with that tray, young Master?” The servant, a balding, olive-skinned Frenchman named Mathieu X. (who had worked for the Desgoffe-und-Taxis household for many years, diligently continuing his duties as the family's butler even after the birth of his two children, and the murder of his wife) asked, notably startled by the unexpected encounter.

Dmitri didn't answer, merely staring at the fallen cake before shifting his grey gaze back up to the butler.

“I'm sorry, young Master, but this is unacceptable...” Mathieu scolded. “I'm going to have to tell your mother about this.” 

Dmitri gulped audibly, his glance darting to the door before finding its way to the ground once more.

“You wait here, young Master, while I go get your mother.” Mathieu looked upon the frightened boy with mild disapproval, wiping the pastel-pink frosting from his once-white uniform with a small silk handkerchief before turning to exit the kitchen.

Dmitri figured he was in enough trouble as it was, and that Mathieu's witness to his transgression would be what buried him. He thus decided it best to do as he was told, though he trembled with trepidation.

His thoughts wandered to Laetizia, however, upon the butler's disappearance from the scene. Had she been seen? 

“Tizia?” Dmitri called out after he was certain Mathieu had gone, his voice quivering. “Tizia? Are you there?” 

There was no answer. As it happened, Laetizia had bolted as soon as she heard the tray hit the floor.

Minutes later, a visibly livid Mme. D made her way down the large set of stairs Dmitri and Laetizia had walked previously, the heels of her ornate red shoes clicking with each gracefully cruel step she took. 

“Dmitri!” She called out, her voice stern in its beckoning. “Dmitri! Come here at /once/!” 

Dmitri found himself unable to move at that moment, paralyzed by a terrible fear.

“I said come /here/!” The Matriarch stepped into the kitchen, grabbing her youngest by his jet-black curls and unceremoniously dragging him into the hallway. 

Soon after, Count von Tieren made his way to the first floor, descending to the kitchen with Marguerite, Carolina, and Laetizia following suit. 

“That cake was for your /father/!” Mme. D scolded, slapping little Dmitri squarely in the face.

“/Step/father.” Dmitri shot back with thinly-veiled resentment, rubbing his reddened cheek. The young Count had never accepted the Prussian as part of his family, garnering a strong distaste for him since the very beginning—a pattern which would reemerge at various points throughout his life.

“You insolent little brat! Apologize to your father right now!” Mme. D took hold of Dmitri's hair once more, shoving the boy in the displeased Prussian's direction. 

“So you think you can come back here and not only steal from me, but insult me as well?” von Tieren snapped, his icy blue eyes locking on Dmitri's large grey ones. “Answer me, /boy/! Is that what you think?”

Dmitri fell silent for a moment, unsure of how to react, until a fleeting spark of bravery inspired him to retort his oppressors. 

“You're /not/ my father!” Dmitri snarled boldly, glaring at the old Prussian.

“Say that again, boy!” von Tieren spat. 

“I said...” Dmitri looked to him still, fiercely defiant. “You're /not/ my father!” 

“Tell me, boy. Do you remember the last time we met like this?” von Tieren asked, a sadistic smile lining his thin, chapped lips as he rubbed the frazzled edges of his Walrus moustache. 

The remark had its intended effect, quickly quelling young Dmitri's ire as the latter withdrew. 

“Ah, yes. Let me see...” von Tieren's thick hands held Dmitri's sallow face in a vice grip as the Prussian aristocrat examined his prey. “I left your big nose a little worse for wear that day. A bit /crooked/, if I recall rightly.” 

Dmitri's eyes filled with hatred as he looked back at the Count, a chill running down his spine as he struggled to loosen his small face from the Prussian's grip.

“I see it's a bit /more/ crooked than I remember. Surely, you must have gotten socked in the face by one of your schoolmates.” von Tieren scoffed, feigning to loosen his hold. “For being a little bed-wetting /faggot/, no doubt.” 

Dmitri's gaze lowered, a wave of shame surging through him. 

“Be a /real/ man, you disgusting little prick!” von Tieren taunted, laughing wickedly before raising his hairy fist to Dmitri's face. 

Dmitri flinched, the impact of the collision causing him to tumble to the floor and hit his head on the polished hardwood as his family watched. 

“Get up and fight me, you goddamn little fruit!” Count von Tieren grabbed his young stepson by the collar of his shirt, shaking him like a rag doll. “I said /FIGHT ME/!!!” 

Dmitri simply stared, careful to abstain from any sudden movement from fear of provoking the older Count further.

“That's what I thought.” Count von Tieren stated, dropping Dmitri. “I'll let Celine deal with punishing you. Just you remember, /boy/. As long as you are in /my/ house, you'll respect my fucking property. Do you hear me?!” 

“Y-yes...” Dmitri answered, warm tears filling his grey eyes as he fell, a trail of fresh blood emanating from his bottom lip. 

“What was that?” von Tieren whipped around, his iron gaze brimming with ire.

“Y-yes... sir.” Dmitri sobbed, petrified of the near-stranger. 

“Celine. Remove your candy-ass son from my sight at once, before I change my mind and /kill/ the little bastard.” von Tieren barked, walking away. 

Mme. D did as the Prussian asked, calmly walking up to her son, who had crumbled into a sobbing heap upon the floor.

“Marguerite. Laetizia. Carolina.” Mme. D called, her voice frosted with deadly calm. “Leave. I need a moment /alone/ with your brother.” 

The three sisters promptly heeded their mother's words, scurrying away (with initial guilt-ridden hesitation on Laetizia's part) from the hallway and back to the lofty safety of their room. 

“Get up, Dmitri.” Mme. D ordered as she approached. 

Entirely exhausted by that point, Dmitri barely managed to look up from the floor, his vision blurred by a bitter stream of tears. 

“I said get up.” Mme. D stared coldly at her fallen son.

Dmitri shivered, his wide eyes looking past his mother's fearsome form, transfixed instead upon the large baroque painting behind her (Spanish baroque painter Bartolomé Esteban Murillo's 'Annunciation', a seventeenth-century oil on canvas piece).

“You know what time of the year it is, Dmitri?” Mme. D asked, clutching the large diamond-encrusted crucifix which hung from her thin neck. 

Dmitri said nothing, entirely entranced by the thickly brushed outline of a pudgy cherub adorning the top right corner of the piece. 

“Three days, Dmitri. Three days before the anniversary of the birth of our Lord.” Mme. D addressed her son with callous sternness, the diamonds on her crucifix gleaming in the dim light. 

He faintly noticed Mme. D's words, feeling the cherub was gazing back at him, the look upon its face twisted and accusatory—a look reserved but for the damned, he thought as he shrunk from the offending conglomeration of pigments. 

“And what do you go and do, so close to such a holy time of celebration? You /sin/, Dmitri.” She went on, gritting her teeth. “Have I not taught you sufficiently of God? Do you not know the eighth commandment?” 

The young Count's stare remained glued to the cherub, growing increasingly fearful of its painted presence, his mother's words only serving to accentuate the sense of guilt and condemnation accruing within him. 

“I'm speaking to you, boy. Or do you want to break the Fifth Commandment as well?” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she prepared to strike her son once more. 

“Y-yes, m'am, I know what it is!” Dmitri flinched, roused from dissociation as he rapidly dispensed his answer. “D-do not steal!” 

Mme. D halted the progression of her hand, which remained firm nonetheless. 

“Exactly, Dmitri. And what have you done today?” She asked, her painted lips pursed as she observed him. 

“I-I stole, m'am.” Dmitri wept, thoroughly terrified. “I-I'm sorry.” 

“Yes, you did. You stole from my husband, who is now your father.” Mme. D retorted with unwavering steeliness. “When you steal from him, you steal from /me/. And when you steal from your parents, you dishonour them, Dmitri. Do you see how easily two commandments can be jointly broken by a sinful, wicked, unworthy soul?” 

“I'm sorry!” Dmitri repeated, a cold sweat running down his temple as he finally shifted his gaze to meet that of his mother's. 

“You will be, Dmitri.” Mme. D grabbed hold of her son's collar, twisting it tightly. “You are a bad apple, but fortunately for you, the Almighty is one who believes in forgiveness. So you shall prove your devotion and gratitude unto Him by fasting for three days, in the cupboard, to atone for your greed.”

Dmitri whimpered, though he knew he had no choice in the matter but to oblige to his mother's demands, the latter dragging his wailing form towards the cupboard, which was located at the furthermost end of that long, dreary hallway. 

The last Dmitri saw of his baroque affliction was the unveiled countenance of the Virgin Mary, along with the iridescent outline of a white dove, whose brilliance obscured a bouquet of white lilies at the far-right corner of the work. 

Weeping profusely, Dmitri allowed himself to be led to his place of punishment, where he would remain for three days' time. 

“Get in.” Mme. D unlocked the cupboard, casting Dmitri an expectant glare. 

Dmitri demurely entered the cupboard, his little footsteps leaden with the weight of a foreign shame.

Saying nothing further to her son, the dowager Countess shut the cupboard's heavy wooden door, locking it promptly before depositing the key inside her pocket and heading back to her boudoir.


End file.
